


Dead Hearts

by VoldemortIncarnate



Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Gen, Heartbreak, M/M, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23142481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoldemortIncarnate/pseuds/VoldemortIncarnate
Summary: "Beta, Kusum kaisi hai?""Achchi hi hai""... aur wo Kartik?"It wasn't the first time Aman had nothing to say. What was he even supposed to?"Pata nahin.""Aur tum?""Jaisa Kartik hai.".........................................An alternate ending to Shubh Mangal Zyaada Savdhaan- one in which Kusum does not run away. Aman is married to Kusum and they move back to Delhi. Aman does not - or rather, does not want to- remember the last time he saw Kartik. Kartik is gone and Aman finds little ways to keep Kartik alive.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 53





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It seems that I jammed to way too many sad songs.

The past few days had been like a haze.

The events seemed jumbled up, not like Aman did mind. He preferred them this way, all to blurry, just enough to resemble a nightmare he could wake up from someday.

He prayed with all his weary heart could muster, for Kartik to pop out of nowhere with his signature grin and warmth. He hoped he would then wake up to find Kartik snoring away next to, snuggle further into his chest, and fall asleep , whishing that the next dream would be kinder to him.

Days passed and the weeks followed.

Kusum and Aman returned to Delhi. Aman and Kartik's apartment was in a state Aman had dreaded ever since Kartik's departure. 

It seemed...empty. 

Kartik had barely taken anything along when he left. It did not take Aman to place just what was missing from the space.

Kartik.

42 missed calls later Kartik had still not picked up Aman' s calls. He did not reply his messages, baring the one time he texted back "I'll be okay" a couple of days after Aman' s marriage.

Kartik's physical absence did not imply that he was no longer a part of Aman s life. Kartik was right there, Aman noticed, in little things. Aman was, unintentionally yet desperately, clinging onto bits of their life together to keep Kartik alive for himself.


	2. Of the Dreamcatcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited yet, but straight (read: gay) from the heart.

He was there in the dreamcatcher Alan had lovingly arranged beside his pillow.

Kartik had bad dreams. Really, really bad dreams. Aman would often wake up in the middle of the night to Kartik's quivering form, silver sweat lining his scrunched brow. His mouth would hang half-open and his body would try to draw itself into a foetal position, as if trying to diminish itself from existence.

_He would not want to exist anymore._

Alan would shake him awake, out of the nightmare. Kartik would lurch into Aman' s chest, being immediately surrounded by his tight grip.

_Wahi sapna?_

Kartik did not need to answer this, he knew. Aman would know. He would proceed to melt into his lover, closing his eyes momentarily. The ashes of his dreams would resurface.

_Papa-papa... phirse nahin mane, Aman. Main itna bura hoon? Main-_

And though their eyes would not be accustomed to the dark yet, Aman' s lips would find their way to Kartik's stuttering mouth. Aman could never find the right words to describe moments like these. Delicate. Fragile. Pure. Or maybe all of these things.

_Ab theek hai?_

_Bilkul._

One night in particular, after sleep and exhaustion from this unpleasant midnight rendezvous had overtaken Kartik, Aman could not find a pint of sleep in the air. He was worried, to say the least. After an hour or so, he reached out for his phone and took to Google to find a solution for his boyfriend's bad dreams.

He couldn't find anything useful in particular but one of the suggestions stuck with him for days to come. Aman soon found himself outside a roadside Handcraft shop, trying to choose from amongst the range of dreamcatchers. He rubbed the back of his neck the moment he entered the shop, what in the world made him think that this tomfoolery would work?

 _Ye kaam bhi karte hain_?

He embarrassingly asked the man on the wooden counter. The elderly man looked up, smiled and whispered something that struck just the right chord for Aman and his dilemma.

_Woh toh vishwas ki baat hai, beta. Kya tumhare imaan mein hai un sapno ko harana? Hai bharosa ki unhe peeche chodd paaoge?_

He spoke of dreams, of course. In that moment, Aman knew. He knew that it was not about how he planned to defeat Kartik's past. It was never about the strategy. It had been about whether or not he truly had faith that he could do so. It was whether or not his love was strong enough to overshine the hatred Kartik had faced.

_Hai, kyun nahin hai._

He quickly gripped onto one of the dreamcatchers, paid the craftsmen and ran out of the shop with a dazzling smile.

The dreamcatchers was still there. Aman was there and so was the tiny metal hoop laden little bells and navy wool, and so were - as Aman bitterly reminded himself- Kartik and his dreams.

One night, when Aman sat staring at the wall, the metal of the dreamcatcher' s hoop stung the corner of his eyes. His mind was hurled into a parade of guilt.

He imagined Kartik's perspirating body curled up into an imperfect circles. The same dreary breath was stuck on his lips and the same years cascaded down his cheeks. He waited, he hoped that Aman would pull him out of whichever circle of hell he was in and right into his embrace. But he did not; he could not.

It was useless, Kusum had tried to explain to Aman. It made an eyesore against the violet walls of their room. But neither Aman not Kusum dared to tuck a feather out of its place, let alone remove the dreamcatcher.

Aman was involuntarily drawn to Kartik's side of the bed. It was always easier to imagine Kartik's warmth that way. It was simpler to force himself to feel Kartik's scent around him.

And somewhere, it was simpler to pray to their little dreamcatcher that way. After all, it was more of use to Aman now than it had been to Kartik. It was Aman s turn to feel the burn of those dreams.

_Dreams, or memories._

That was something he could never quite place.


	3. Of Oversized Hoodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aman finds Kartik's clothes in the closet. They still smell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Its been 2.5 months since the last update, I know. I really did not know whether I should continue this one or not. Anyway, enjoy.

It had been a week since their return from Allahabad when Kusum finally asked Aman to make space for her clothes in his wardrobe. They couldn't stay in her suitcase forever, could they?

The next afternoon Aman walked to his closet with heavy, dreading steps. He himself had not opened it till now. He could not bear to look at the lurking emptiness- the hollow where Kartik's clothes should have been.

Yes, his clothes: his graphic shirts and silly overshirts and hoodies and bandanas and the sets of ripped jeans he had bought in a frenzy at a black Friday sale.

All of them.

Gone.

His hands slipped around the handles and the doors slid open easily. Aman felt as though he was staring a mirror. It was empty. It was dark. There were tape marks and glue stains from where Kartik had stuck his pictures-their pictures.

Kartik had always insisted that their closet was such a "bore" anyway. He had this little polaroid camera that would attack Aman out of nowhere, usually at moments when he was most vulnerable. Kartik would hop and skid his way to their room and post the picture at the back wood of their cupboard.

_You're pretty and your pictures make the closet pretty._

And just like his heart, their was still a piece of Kartik in the cupboard. Aman reached out for the mustard hoodie that had been tucked underneath all his summer clothes.

Deny it as much as he may, Aman had had a thing for Kartik's clothes, and Kartik could not be happier. On morning afters of their nightime love making sessions, Aman would walk out of the bed and into the kitchen wearing the bigger man's clothes from the last night. 

Pancake batter kept aside, Kartik would look up Aman for the marvel of a man he was. He would look at him the way everyone would want to be looked.

His lashes would seem longer in the glow of the morning sun. Somehow, he would still have the afterglow of their carnality. Kartik could not help but stare at the streaks of red bordering his jaw-they would have a purple tinge to them. His dishevelled hair would glimmer, his eyes would stare back at Kartik in their the full glory of the gorgeous browns they contained.

Only Kartik could look at him the way all boys would want to be looked at.

 _Only Kartik_. 

Aman reaches out for the mustard hoodie. It was the one they had bought for Kartik while on an online shopping spree. Aman loved it more than he thought he would and Kartik offered to order another one, one of his fit. 

Aman preferred it the other way. Over the time they had spent with each other, it had become their shared hoodie. 

Involuntarily, Aman raised the garment up to his face. It smelled just like Kartik. He had not washed it since the last time he must worn it. 

_Shit, it smelled just like Kartik._

Aman holds it close to his chest, hugging it in a suffocating hold. A half-choked sob made its way through his lips. 

He immediately pulled of his t-shirt and out the hoodie on. He wiped off his tears and through his still bleary vision, looked at his image in the mirror beside the closet.

The hoodie hung loose on his petite form. The ribbing on the shoulder panel stopped just above his elbows. The sleeves well extending beyond his palms. He pulled the hood over and it covered almost the whole of his eyes. Feeling for the pockets Aman pulled out wrappers of candies Kartik must have deposited in the pockets. Lord, how he hated this habit of his!

The rush of the tap in the kitchen came to a halt. Kartik was home, of course he was! Aman could here footsteps approaching the room. Any moment now, Kartik would burst into their room, announcing how would make one hell of a husband one day- he had washed all of the dishes.

The footsteps got closer. Aman could count the seconds on his before now. Seconds before Kartik would screech to a stop on looking at Aman in one of his hoodies. It was- as Aman would confirm with an ever inflated chest- one of the only things that could make Kartik shut up within a nanosecond.

 **3.**..

_Aman excitedly fluttered on his toes- up and down, up and down. He could not wait to wash that lopsided grin off his face as Kartik lifts his small form up in his arms, readying his body to be swung around in a circle as Aman's legs drapes around Kartik's thighs._

**2.**..

" _Aww, yaar, itna cute koi kaise lag sakta hai? Matlab kaise?" Kartik would say. He always did. He would proceed to tousle his well combed hair with a ruffle. " Aman Tripathi, the things you do to me..."_

 **1.**..

_Here comes the kiss. Enough of talking. Impatience would take over Aman's veins as he plasters his grin onto Kartik's with an earth shattering intensity. He would swear he heard him whimper._

0...

_Kartik would pull him further into him, waiting for him to dissolve into -_

_"Kya, kar Kya rahe ho tum?"_

Aman opens his eyes. He was not standing anymore, but resting in front of his floor length mirror. He looks around. Had Kartik dropped him? Oh, just wait till he lifted himself up. This man was in for a-

" _Aman, theek toh ho?"_

Kusum waved her hands in air, in front of Aman's eyes. There was no Kartik around. 

_"Paani chahiye? Aman, kya-!"_

He made a sprint for the bathroom as fast as his feet could carry him. Closing the door behind him, he slid down the fall. After a few desperate attempts, Kusum went away. He was hopeless. 

As the clinking of her anklets faded, Aman closed his eyes again. He could it feel right there, waiting for him to let it in. Right there. Aman let it in. The scent of Kartik's hoodie.

_Shit, the hoodie still smelled like him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be looking forward to comments on this one. Positive criticism would be appreciated as well.


End file.
